As the words passed from his lips, I saw him stoop suddenly--at the same time jerking his foot upward from the floor. I divined his intention, which was to draw his bowie out of his boot; and while his leg was still raised, and before he could fairly lay hold of the knife, I dealt him a blow that sent him sprawling upon the floor. The knife flew out of his hand; and, before he could regain his feet, I stepped between him and the place where it was lying. I have neglected to tell the reader, that I could no longer with propriety be called "The _little_ Rolling Stone," though Stormy still continued to address me occasionally by that appellation. At the time of this--my last encounter with Adkins--I was six feet _without_ my boots; and was strong and active in proportion. I have called it my _last_ encounter with this ruffian--it was so. Before he was in a position to attack me a second time, I drew my own knife from its sheath; and threw it on the floor alongside his. I did this, to show that I scorned to take any advantage of an unarmed man--as my cowardly opponent had done with poor Stormy Jack. I did not at the moment think of the wrongs Adkins had done to myself--of my imprisonment in a common gaol--of the falsehoods he had told to Mrs Hyland--of his attempt to win Lenore. I thought only of poor Stormy. Adkins again rushed on me; and was again knocked down. This time he showed a disposition for remaining on the floor--in the hopes that some of his friends might come between us, and declare the fight to be over; but I kicked him, until he again got up, and once more closed with me. I met the third attack, by picking him up in my arms--until his heels were high in the air, and then I allowed him to fall down again on the crown of his head. He never rose after that fall--his neck was broken. Before I left the room, every man in it came up and shook hands with me--as they did so, telling me that I had done a good thing. Volume Two, Chapter VIII. STORMY TRANQUIL AT LAST. When I returned to Stormy he was worse; and I saw that he had not much longer to live. He was not in so much pain as when I left him; but it was evident he was sinking rapidly. "Stormy," said I, "what would you wish me to do to the man, who has brought you to this?" "Nothing," he answered; "he's a bad man--but let him go. Promise me that you will not try to teach him manners--let the Lord do it for us." "All right, comrade," said I, "your wishes shall be obeyed: for I cannot harm him now. He has gone." "I'm glad of that," said the dying man, "for it shows that he knew himself to be in the wrong. By his running away, others will know it too; and will not say that I desarved what I've got." "But he has _not_ run away," said I, "he is dead. I went to the house, where you met him yesterday. I found him there. Before I came out, he died." Stormy's expressive features were lit up with a peculiar smile.